


An Impromptu Appointment

by spicedrobot



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Medical Examination, Sex Toys, maintenance play, mekanic mention, pegging mention, valveplug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 11:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14056452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicedrobot/pseuds/spicedrobot
Summary: For all his talk of healing, Zenyatta is hard to pin down for an appointment of his own.





	An Impromptu Appointment

****Brigitte’s first love had been armor. While her father regaled her with stories, she copied his designs and blueprints in multi-colored crayon. She puts her favorite parts together, draws her own armor sets; her tools become markers, grease pencils, digital models. She makes scaled print-outs, then full size prototypes while her parents guide with praise and critique. Most of all, she enjoys the more traditional approach: selecting alloys, judging their weight and flexibility, cutting and welding until raw material is protection worthy of crusaders of old.

Years pass, and even as she outgrows each pair of work gloves, her passion keeps pace. She lifts in her free time (smithing’s demanding, and she hones her body like any other tool), and crafts other things to keep her mind fresh. Inspiration comes from everywhere, so she reads, builds computers, weaponry, tries her hand at coding, hacking, painting.

She is older now, with the stress of school, caring for family, from designs that won’t quite click, from the uncertainty of the future. When she settles down at night, her own hand upon her body is too tiring, so she develops a solution.

Her first attempts are crude. They serve their purpose, vibrate at varying speeds, too rough for insertion. Then smoother, sleeker versions with varying lengths and girths, always developed during times when frustration would interfere with more traditional projects.

Then Reinhardt receives the call, and her hobbies fall to the wayside. She follows her godfather, does her best to protect him. Sometimes she thinks she’s the only one who can see his scars, how the weight of his purpose curls his spine and mutes the brightness of his eyes.

Brigitte will not let him answer the call alone.

* * *

She meets many people in Overwatch. Old heroes that she recognizes from decades old videocasts, some from posters tacked on her bedroom wall at home. Others are new. Others like her.

One in particular, kind and wise in ways that contradict her father’s disparaging words, is a pleasant thorn in her side. He reminds her of Reinhardt, though she cannot shake how fragile he looks, chassis stripped down further than even standard civilian models. Quick to help everyone, often with more than bandaids and biotic fields, but not so quick to help himself.

Zenyatta is discreet about it. He never walks; that’s her first clue. Everyone thinks its a spiritual thing. One day, however, Zenyatta mentions his model number, and the pieces fall into place. Brigitte had learned engineering from the very same parts that make up the monk’s body, knows their weaknesses.

She offers maintenance dates, standard procedure. Just check-ups. Each time, Zenyatta agrees with their scheduled time. Then a mission comes up. Or another agent needs his assistance more, a breakdown here, a nightmare there.

One day, Brigitte’s had enough.

* * *

She finds Zenyatta in the common room, conversing with Lúcio and Hana while an LP plays on the holoscreen.

“Hana, Lúcio. Nice to see you. Zenyatta, it’s time for your appointment.” Brigitte says as she approaches.

The omnic’s orbs spin, a gentle hum joining the ambient noise of the streamer. “Time is a fickle construct, is it not?”

Before Zenyatta can begin his colloquial quips, Brigitte grasps him by the waist.

“Miss Lindholm—”

She hefts him over her shoulder with little more than a huff.

“It’s Brigitte. We talked about this, remember.”

She gives a small wave to the other two, who stare with comically large eyes.

“See ya, Zen.” Lúcio says as Brigitte turns and walks back the way she came, one omnic heavier.

Zenyatta waves before the door slides shut behind them.

Neither says anything for several seconds. Then.

“Wish she’d carry me like that.” Hana says.

Lúcio gives her a playful shove.

* * *

“This is not necessary.” Zenyatta says as they enter her workshop.

“You’ve ditched me three times.” Brigitte says, setting Zenyatta on the workbench. “Tell me the reason. You think I’m too young to properly maintenance you?” She turns to rummage through her toolbox.

“Hardly. Even if I had never seen your work first hand, I would know you are capable. More than it.”  Zenyatta weaves his fingers together before his orbs lock around his throat.

“Then. You are afraid?”

The omnic laughs, but as she turns around, omnidriver in hand, he stills.

“Please let me help you, Zenyatta.” She swallows. “I know you cannot walk without your anti-grav module.”

“Yes.” He says quietly.

“With your permission, I would like to run full diagnostics.”

“There is something more you should know.” Zenyatta says, tilting his faceplate down. “My model was customized years prior. The SE10 series.”

Brigitte’s grip on the omnidriver tightens.

“You mean?”

He nods. “Diagnostics will reveal the minutiae of it. I just...did not wish for you to feel obligated if you were not comfortable.”  

She grasps his shoulder. He looks up, array flashing.

“I’m glad you told me. Actually, I may have just the thing to help perform your system flush.”

* * *

She runs diagnostics. Zenyatta’s body is only performing at forty percent efficiency, many parts completely non-functional, including his legs. Brigitte fixes those first, though it’s nearly two hours before Zenyatta can rotate his feet.

“The last time you’ve run maintenance on the SE10 set was two years ago. I want to work on that next.”

Zenyatta nods.

“Lie back?”

Her set of toys are embarrassingly present in her workshop, tucked inside a small, discrete box. She places it to the table, glad at least that she’s a meticulously cleans them, no matter the hassle.

Brigitte opens the box and presents it to Zenyatta, cheeks warm.

“Do you have a preference?”

Zenyatta’s array flickers, flaring bright while he reviews. He points to one modestly sized, but thick: one of her favorites, she thinks with a rush.

“It has been...some time.”

She can only nod her head; she had never heard Zenyatta sound embarrassed before. Did he prefer bigger?

Brigitte breathes out through her nose.

“Okay. Open your panel for me?”

She blinks as his paneling slides up and away, tongue feeling thick against the roof of her mouth. It’s...smaller than she imagined, and a pretty shade of blue, a tight slit that looks like it wouldn’t be able to fit a finger, let alone a toy.

“I am going to prep you a little first. Your sensors may take a while to online.”

Brigitte picks up a bottle of lubricant; Zenyatta’s internal stores are critically low. She snaps on a pair of clean gloves, and somehow it’s worse this way, clinical, but that’s proper, what they’re doing isn’t supposed to be anything but.

She exhales quietly, warming the liquid between her fingers before she reaches down, dragging one just beneath the gentle curve of his node. He makes a noise, quiet, nothing like she’d ever heard from a synth before.

“You have a phallus counterpart too.” She says, more to break the silence as Zenyatta onlines before her eyes.

Brigitte has no frame of reference for this, so she touches Zenyatta like she would herself, slow and rhythmic, watching his valve plump and fill beneath her touch. He’s warming up, she can feel his heat through the gloves, his quiet clicks and flickering lights the only indication besides the swelling against her hand.

“Zenyatta?”

“Y-yes. My apologies.”

A slot depressurizes above his node, and his cock, segmented and mostly flaccid, slides into view. She reaches for it, Zenyatta steaming when her hands catch around its base. It feels similar to her toys, but as she dips her fingers into his valve, the folds parting with a welcoming warmth, it flares to life, erect and dripping in seconds. A groan rips from Zenyatta’s synth.

“That is...not normal.” He whimpers.

Brigitte’s head snaps towards the diagnostics as the readings spike.

“Seems that way, but you are still within safe levels.” She licks her lips, thigh muscles clenching, though it does nothing to stop the steadily building ache between them.

Brigitte returns her gaze to Zenyatta’s body, giving his cock an experimental stroke. A sudden spurt of lube hits her hand still circling against his valve, another quiet chirp joining the wet sounds.

“I think…” She presses a single finger inside, face burning at how soft and supple it feels, no skin or hair to catch against, only the tight clutch of silicone insides fluttering around her. “We could try the toy.”

“Please.” Zenyatta says, thighs widening as she begins the slow retreat of her finger.

He’s so animated like this, the glow of his lights pulsing, pistons adjusting with each shift and shudder, as responsive as any organic, but with the beauty of a well-crafted machine. She doesn’t pull away, not yet, working her finger to the last knuckle with ease, then withdrawing to feed him another, his valve adjusting and gripping her even as he twists them, watching it ripple.

“Brigitte—”

She eases her fingers out without another word, valve gaping and glistening for a moment before it tightens.

Her heartbeat pounds in her temples, nipples peaking against her sports bra. She sighs, then smiles. Both are shaky things, especially as lubing the toy does nothing to stop the hot clench between her own legs, memories mixing with the secret anticipation of stuffing Zenyatta with the same toy she’s used herself.

Brigitte takes Zenyatta’s cock in hand, stroking it once, slick bubbling over her fingers while Zenyatta’s servos grip the sides of the table. She nestles the toy against him and pushes, unwilling to tease, especially when doing so might expose her own deviance. He parts around it deliciously, Zenyatta keening as it disappears in a smooth suck.

She focuses on the diagnostics again as they spike, warnings pinging on the screen. Close to overload.

“You’re sensitive. Is that standard?” She asks, husky as she catches just beneath his synthetic glans. Again and again, finger grazing that bright sensor while she fucks the toy inside him in time with her hand on his cock.

“No. Y-yes. I—I am—” His synth hiccups, a hand tossed over his array as his hips shift up into her touch, almost making her lose her grip on him.

The motion is awkward, different than touching herself. If only she had something to secure around her waist, fuck him good and deep like he needed. Or maybe a fleshlight would be better, something see-through so she could record each twitch and pulse.

She bites her lip, working his cock harder, her fingers hitting his valve with each shove of the toy, each inch suckled and clutched until they finally find their rhythm, Zenyatta fucking into her hand while she chases his valve with her cock. Only a few seconds like this, perfect symmetry, before he yells and spills, the diagnostic screen pinging as violently as the omnic thrashes.

The remnants of slick catch in weak ropes along his chassis, his valve gushing with a gentle rush past the toy as he hard resets around it.

The diagnostic screen dims before glowing a bright green. The ghost of the reset echoes through his systems, but finally he moves his hand from his array, which shines, bright and steady. She slips the toy from him, burning from the thick pop of its departure.

“How do you feel?” Brigitte says, the words sticking in her mouth.

“Much improved.” Zenyatta responds, low and resonant, with a gentle lilt that is all but recognizable.

Brigitte helps clean him, gingerly sealing him up.

“You reserves are depleted, but if you have a preference for lubricant. Just...put in a supply request. I will fill you up when the shipment arrives.”

“Thank you, Brigitte. I look forward to you filling me.”

Brigitte freezes. Then she swiftly turns towards Zenyatta, narrowing her eyes.

“Did you just—”

Zenyatta cants his head.

“You’re teasing me.”

He laughs as he sits up.

“I am. Please forgive me.”

Zenyatta wiggles his legs before standing upright for the first time in years.

“However, if you ever require a _system flush_ , I would be more than happy to return the favor.”

She turns and washes her hands so he cannot see how hot her face gets.

“I will keep that in mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> Submit your prompts or come say hi on my [tumblr](https://robotfvckers.tumblr.com/)!


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